Claws in Casinos
by SecretTwin
Summary: All Agent Ross wanted was to make the exchange. Maybe win some money and get a drink while he was at it. But then the king of Wakanda showed up. His night just got a lot more stressful.


**Loved, loved, loved Black Panther. I don't own any of these characters.**

 **Rated T for language.**

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The world had lost its ability to surprise Ross. He explained it to the recruits as, if you let yourself be surprised, the only way your mouth will shut is when you're swallowing the end of a photon blaster. (Lesson learned when a graduate from Quantico took his last selfie under a sky portal in New York.)

Everett wasn't always immune. The Iron Man had flown over his airbase in Iraq ten years ago and his mouth dropped open. He got a grainy picture on his old phone, the one with the screen that slid down over the keypad. Sent it to a buddy in the Navy. Then, gods fell out of goddamn holes in the sky. By the time robots invaded the internet, the biggest reaction it got out of him was an eye roll. He now kept an extra copy of most of his data on paper now. (He's pretty sure the rest of SHIELD did too.)

The Avengers were a nuisance. Attracted even more nuisances. What good were they if they brought trouble and left the task force and CIA to clean it up after the battle?

By 2017, Ross had a touch screen phone, and a digital file of every weapon ever confiscated from extra terrestrial/super beings. Gone were the days of lagging behind tech. You'd get lost in the dust if you were even a generation behind.

Now, Agent Ross of the CIA was two steps ahead. Tell him something he didn't know.

But sometimes he just needed the old cavalier and Glock. Old fashioned, like his old man would say. Especially for Status Three subjects. Status Four was ET/S, maximum surveillance, advanced weaponry standby when dealing with the unknown. Status three was someone like Agent Romanoff. Mortal, but could kill a bystander easily without proper precautions.

Everett had dealt with Klaue - not just men like him. There wasn't a man like Klaue, not in this business. And that's what it was. A business. Nothing personal. Klaue's job was to cause the CIA – and Ross – problems. A few years back, the agency had been tracking the black market dealer, when their mole vanished. Poof. Gone. Klaue had found out who he was, who he worked for, and wanted something that he shouldn't have known the agency had. Sent back a piece of their agent each day they didn't give it to him. They finally ended up with half the agent before the dickwad called it quits. Maybe he knew all along that they wouldn't give it up. It still would have been easier to kill the man.

This was meant to be an easy transaction with a difficult status three businessman, but worth the rewards. Vibranium was the jackpot for secret agencies. Did that technically mean they worked together to get it? Well, if one branch just happened to find a piece of vibranium and didn't tell another branch, no harm no foul. Didn't matter who it came from, just that they get it. Don't ask, don't tell. This little transaction just happened to fall on Ross.

He got the call on the way to Bucharest. They would have sent Wallace, but he was "indisposed," which was polite speak for incompetent. Which meant he had to hand Bucharest off to Carter, and get a connecting flight at the airport to take him to Busan. Luckily a small sandwich shop made a damn strong coffee.

So forgive him if he wanted to enjoy himself while in Busan. Security was standing by with their ears cocked for the code red, and he had time to play a game of craps. It was a decent night.

Until that motherfucker waltzed in like he owned the fucking place.

Just when Ross thought he would get a night off, of course His Highness would get word of Klaue's location. It never occurred to Everett that he would actually show up – in South Korea. The hell kind of Uber service did they have in Wakanda?

King T'Challa sidled up next to him, crisp black suit tailored to fit his lean frame. At a glance, Ross would never have guessed that this king would be able to kick a full grown man across the room. Except he wasn't just a king. Ross had seen the suit. Indestructible – not a scratch on him, with claws and hyperaware ears, just like a cat. If he was in another place at another time it would be funny, but right now, this was pretty un-fucking-funny.

"Your Highness," he said, nodding his head in semblance of a bow, but kept his eyes on the craps table. The last thing he needed was to set off an alert to one of his agents. He relaxed his shoulders, turned slightly, just two strangers enjoying a game.

"Agent Ross," King T'Challa returned, ever the polite diplomat, a small smile toying at the corner of his mouth.

Everett frowned. This was not good. Clearly he did not understand what was going on. Ross blew out a breath.

"I don't know what you're doing here, but this is CIA official business," he said. He dropped his stack of chips to the table. "You need to leave. Now."

King T'Challa turned and leaned his lower back against the table, elbows hanging over the green. "When it concerns Klaue, it is my business," he said softly, under the music blasting in the casino. He leaned closer to Ross. "Klaue is coming with me, Agent Ross. Perhaps it is best if you leave."

A noise somewhere between a scoff and laugh escaped him. Ross half-turned and leaned his elbow on the table, now facing T'Challa. Nothing in his demeanor suggested hostility, while Ross boiled from the inside.

"Look," Everett said. "I like you, a lot, but if this gets out of hand, I'm not going to be able to hide this. And I did a pretty good job keeping it quiet that the king of a third world country runs around in a bullet-proof cat suit. I'd say we were even."

The king looked away, eyes pensive. Not two weeks ago had they departed Vienna on a handshake, promises promises that they would keep his secret. Had he doubted Everett? Not that he would blame him. Strangers could only be trusted about twelve percent of the time. Everett relied on himself after one too many times being left to dangle by others with their own agendas.

T'Challa nodded. "Be that as it may, I gave my word to bring him back to face Wakandan justice." He placed his own stack on the velvet, next to Ross's. "I will not ask a second time." He left.

Everett glanced at the game. "You won," he called behind him, but the king was gone.

He wasn't the kind of guy to let smaller men have the last word.

Ross raised his watch to his chin, following behind T'Challa. "Okay, heads up. The king of _Wakanda_ is here."

He heard a bit of staticky conversation when Sanchez cleared his throat. "For craps?"

Everett wanted to bang his head against a wall. He should have stayed in Bucharest.

-x-

At least Highness had enough sense to keep a low profile. Low enough that Ross lost sight of him.

Klaue had a sense, (did he?) but backed by an ego train a mile long. Having money and lackeys that could beat the shit out of you would do that. A rage on two legs with a presence that filled the room, he stomped down the stairs. He was here for business. At least, that's what Everett assumed the tie was for. He glanced down at his own suit. Black tie. That was business. Klaue looked like he belonged in a ring.

The brute led his posse, stomping with a shoulder-hip swagger. His face lit up with a lopsided grin when he saw Everett waiting. With the scruff of hair on top of his head and scraggly beard that framed his face, Klaue's appearance reminded him of an ape.

Everett only allowed a two-day stubble before his next shave. Maybe if he didn't respect his job as much he might consider growing one again like in his military days. But the job required tidiness to his dress. Anyway, Beth said there were three reasons why a man would grow a beard: compensation, warmth, and homelessness. Everett added dwarf to the list.

Ross pulled himself to his full height. Klaue was a big man, with five other men tailing him. He kept his shoulders hunched, a slight rhythm suggesting he favored his right side. His left shoulder slumped slightly due to the extra weight on his prosthetic.

Everett nodded. "Well that is quite the entourage. You coming out with a mixtape?"

He just had to open his mouth.

Klaue didn't miss a beat. "Yeah!" He gave a jerky nod. "I can give you the link to my Soundcloud account." He snapped to one of his lackeys, asking about the name, and Everett realized the joker wasn't fucking with him.

"Please, don't make me listen to your music." He rolled his right shoulder. "Have you got it?"

Klaue, still grinning like it was Christmas, leaned close, slapping his hand on Ross's shoulder. The ordinary hand. It would be redundant to call it his "good" hand, because according to his file, his prosthetic doubled as a damn gun. That was a good arm.

"Look at you," he drawled. "We just got here. Show us a good time at least?"

Everett bit off a smile. "Running on the clock I'm afraid."

Klaue clicked his tongue. "That's how you treat your best customer? Wore my best suit an' everything." He sniffed and turned to the closest lackey. "Americans, right?"

They bobbed in agreement. Fucking sheep.

Klaue was hardly the customer. What customer wanted diamonds? Everett bit the inside of his cheek. No snark. "Agency only covers car and hotel."

Klaue dug his fingers into his shoulder, squeezing. "Bit tense there Evie," he winced. "You work too much friend. S'not good for you."

He kept rubbing him.

"Well," Ross cleared his throat. "Too many vacation days and we'd never come back."

Klaue showed too much teeth when he smiled. He leaned closer. "You go on vacation with me and I'll make sure you never have to go back."

Ross wrinkled his nose and lifted his shoulder, hoping Klaue would catch the hint that that hand was lingering way too long. The man was thick as fog. It remained planted on him like a leech.

Klaue squeezed again, the heavy palm inching lower to his sleeve. "You got the diamonds?"

Ross raised his chin. "Vibranium?"

His earpiece crackled. "On it sir."

He half turned held out his arm, and felt the cool weight of the case. He gripped it tight in his right hand. He didn't think Klaue would try to grab it, but he was not going back to headquarters as the guy who didn't have a good grip on the case.

"Kay, that's enough." He inched his shoulder out from Klaue's hand.

And if that son of a bitch didn't pull down his zip and stuff his hand down the front of his pants. Everett blinked and some working connection in his brain that hadn't shorted out managed to drag his eyes away. _You don't look at the other guy while he's taking a wiz Evie._ The design in the banister, that was much more interesting than a guy unzipping his pants.

A rasp of fabric and Klaue slammed down the package with a _thunk_. For something so small it must have been heavy. Ross glanced at the brown paper wrapped vibranium. Even wrote "fragile" on the side. He could probably get a pair of grilling tongs from the kitchen. Or Dale. Dale could pick up the dick vibranium.

Jesus they didn't pay him enough.

"You couldn't get a case?"

He shrugged. "Was going to. But… never got around to it."

Keeping it in his crotch was safer than any case with a combination lock. He had to give him that.

Klaue yanked his zip up. "Shoulda seen the look on the guy that tried to frisk me at the airport."

Everett tightened his hold on the case. "I'll stick with the vibranium thanks."

Suddenly the craps table exploded in a crackle of wood and torn fabric, sending cards and chips raining through the air. Everett froze. Klaue stared at the body and his eyes snapped to Ross.

Casino night was over.

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 **I just really like Martin Freeman and Andy Serkis. We don't know much about Freeman's character, so I thought it would be cool to write the casino scene from his POV.**


End file.
